


White Winter Hymnal

by bearonthecouch



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alliances, Friendship, Gen, Girls with Guns, Pre-Canon, Protectiveness, References to bipolar disorder, kid Royai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 10:04:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15928184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearonthecouch/pseuds/bearonthecouch
Summary: Riza shrugs. What’s the point of half of what her father tries to do? He sets up problems just because he can. Because he finds them fascinating and he doesn’t care if he burns himself out trying to solve them. And he doesn’t realize that two young kids are standing in his shadow, trying to live up to those impossible expectations.





	White Winter Hymnal

“Mister Mustang?”

Roy feels a light touch on his arm, gone before he even lifts his head.

“You know you don't have to call me that. I'm fourteen. That's not old enough to be ‘Mister’ anything.”

Riza shrugs, the same way she has every time he's brought this up in the past nine months.

“Are you alright?” she asks him, obviously concerned.

He rubs the back of his neck, blinking up at her. “I'm fine. Just tired.”

“You’ve been here all night,” she accuses, waving her hand at the kitchen table, with open books and scattered papers spread all over it.

Roy nods, although he cringes at the look she gives him. “You have to sleep,” she demands.

“Yeah, I know. I will. I just…”

She crosses her arms over her chest and stares him down.

Roy groans. The back of his eyeballs itch. He _is_ tired, and his muscles are stiff.

But…

Riza lights the stove and starts heating a kettle. She turns back to Roy, and she softens a little. She doesn’t understand alchemy, but she understands her father, and the fear of disappointing him. “He didn't eat breakfast. So, he probably won’t come out of his room til late. You can go to bed, he won't notice.”

She’s already wearing her school uniform and has probably been awake for at least an hour, even though it’s barely dawn. And it’s _freezing_ outside. It's a long walk for her, and Roy feels bad, though she'd been doing it for years before he met her. “I'll go with you,” he says, getting to his feet.

Riza pours the now-boiling water into a mug, and drops a tea bag into it. She shakes her head as she hands it to Roy. “There's oatmeal, too, if you want it,” she says. “And I can walk to school by myself.”

“You don't have to take care of me.”

“Yes, I do.”

Roy sighs. He tries to help her as much as he can, to make things a little bit more fair. He sees the way her father totally ignores her unless he wants something from her, and he hates it. He tries to anticipate Master Hawkeye’s needs if he can, so he can step in to handle them before Riza has to get involved. It isn't really all that hard to keep his teacher’s attention focused on alchemy. But the more time he spends doing that, the less time he has to help with cooking and cleaning and shopping and all the other household chores. So it still falls almost entirely on Riza. And she turns up with food at regular intervals whether they ask her to or not. Roy feels guilty about it, but he can’t stop her.

He pushes the tea toward her, but she shakes her head. “It’ll get cold if you leave it there,” she points out, as she grabs her coat from a nearby hook and slips it on.

“I'm going with you.”

She glares at him, but finally shrugs. “If you want.”

Her coat is too small, patched and worn. Roy frowns at it, but it’s just another unfair thing he can’t fix. He tries offering her his own coat, which is also years old but is at least pretty warm, but he knows before he even asks that she won’t take it. And people call _him_ stubborn.

He gulps down half the mug of tea as Riza slings her satchel over her shoulder and grabs a couple of her books off the table to stuff into it. She pushes open the back door and steps out into the frigid winter morning, and Roy follows her.

Snowflakes are starting to fall and the sky is heavy with clouds, grey even through the sunrise. Roy rubs his hands together and blows into them, then sticks them into his pockets. Riza kicks through the tall grass overgrowing what used to be the driveway leading to her house. Once they reach the main road, she sets a brisk pace, almost running at times. The school is miles away, over an hour at walking pace. Riza can cut it to forty-five minutes when she tries. Roy watches her run and he smiles, because she’s smiling, too, and she looks like a ten-year-old, for once.

He’s never really seen her outside of her house. She seems lighter out here. Freer.

She slows down after a minute and turns back to him, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. He falls into step beside her as she walks. Her face is flushed and she’s still grinning. He expects her to blame him for slowing her down, but she doesn’t say anything. But, she wouldn’t. Her insults and accusations are usually non-verbal. She seems happy enough to settle next to him. The snow swirls around them, and Roy watches it with wonder. Snow in Central doesn’t last long before it turns dirty and grey. It’s different out here.

“You do this every day?” he asks her.

“I like to run. I have to be careful not to mess up my uniform too much, though.”

“You don’t have to slow down for me. I can keep up.”

She shakes her head. “No. We’ll walk the rest of the way, Mister Mustang. It’s not too late, I’ll still get there on time.”

Usually, Riza gets to school early. She likes to be there for a few minutes in the quiet, before the other girls arrive, with their whirlwinds of gossip and giggles and all the whispers behind her back. But usually, she isn’t walking to school with her father’s apprentice, who takes care of her at least as much as she lets him, which is more than anyone else ever has since her mother died.

“What’re you trying to do?” she asks him.

“What?”

“You stayed up all night. What were you trying to figure out?”

Roy frowns. He doesn’t talk to her about alchemy; she’s relaxed enough to let him sketch out circles in front of her, and she still reads aloud to him from the textbooks, sometimes, but she closes off when she looks at him and sees an alchemist instead of just a… friend. If they’re friends. He wants them to be, but even after all these months, he still isn’t quite sure where they stand. They’re allies, maybe. Soldiers in hostile territory.

He tries not to think badly of his teacher, because he _needs_ to learn what Master Hawkeye can teach him, the man’s a genius, and Roy is already capable of much more than he’d have ever been able to cobble together on his own. But he’s not the kind of man Roy can look up to: he’s unforgivably self-centered, and his infrequent rages worry him and send Riza into hiding. There are sometimes days or even weeks-long stretches when he never leaves his room at all, leaving Roy to his own devices. There are other periods when he stays awake for days, pacing and ranting whether or not Roy is in the room, and Roy catches glimpses of the notes and equations he scrawls out in those wild bursts of insight, and they’re so far over his head that he can’t even begin to guess what he’s looking at, but he knows enough to comprehend that whatever it is will completely revolutionize the common understanding of alchemy.

Roy’s own understanding of alchemy was challenged on his first day, when Master Hawkeye threw him a book on the four basic elements: fire, water, earth, and air, and told him to figure out how to transmute what he couldn’t see.

That’s _still_ what he’s doing, stripping the base elements down to their component pieces. Water is easy, simple molecules of hydrogen and oxygen. Air, though, is very complicated and can change based on where you are, or the weather, or hell, even the time of day.

Riza’s still looking at him expectantly, as they tromp along the frozen ground, where the snow is starting to accumulate. She’s shivering in her too-thin coat. Roy holds out his hand, and Riza surprises him by actually taking it, after raising an eyebrow. Their skin-to-skin contact warms both of them.

“I’m trying to create water out of air.”

“Like make rain?”

“Yeah. The thing is, it’s really only possible when it’s _already_ raining, I think. Or humid enough that it’s about to be. So what’s the point?”

Riza shrugs. What’s the point of half of what her father tries to do? He sets up problems just because he can. Because he finds them fascinating and he doesn’t care if he burns himself out trying to solve them. And he doesn’t realize that two young kids are standing in his shadow, trying to live up to those impossible expectations.

“If you could figure it out, it’d probably help a lot of people. When there’s a drought or something.”

“I… don’t think I’m capable of anything on that scale. I mean, before I came here, I was transmuting shot glasses and slingshots. Nothing bigger than what you could hold in your hand.”

“I think you can figure it out.”

“You think I can… change the weather?”

“If you want to. If you try.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

Riza squeezes his hand and looks up at him with her shy smile. They’re about a mile from town now, and Riza’s school sits at the end of the main street. She yanks her hand out of Roy’s grasp once they’re on that street, and tells him not to follow her the rest of the way. He can’t tell whether it’s just a need for independence or if there’s some other reason she doesn’t want to be seen with him. But he doesn’t have any standing by which to protest. He sits down on a bench after brushing away the snow, and watches her disappear into the school building.

The sky is winter-bright now, the air crisp and clear and cold. He isn’t looking forward to the long walk back alone, but he knew what he was getting into when he suggested this. If he had any money, he’d buy a coffee or something, but Riza keeps track of whatever cens Madam Christmas sends to cover the cost of his room and board; he never even sees that coin. It’s always been like that; he gets what he needs, but he doesn’t carry pocket money.

He takes a deep breath and heads up the road, through the now fast-falling snow that’s making the road slippery and obscuring his vision. He ducks his head and concentrates on keeping his footing. It takes him a lot longer than an hour to get back to the crumbling manor house, and his clothes are soaked through by the time he gets there.

He pushes open the kitchen door, the only one he and Riza ever use. He half-expects Master Hawkeye to be looking for him, but after a quick glance at the kitchen it’s obvious nothing’s been moved since he left. His mug, half full of now-cold tea, is still sitting on the table. So Riza’s probably right that her father’s still asleep, and might not make his presence known until late afternoon, or maybe not at all.

Roy’s still tired too, but he grabs one of the books from the table and takes it into the front sitting room instead of his small, lonely guest bedroom. He builds a fire in the fireplace, strikes a match and lights it, watching the fire grow as it consumes the wood. It crackles and dances, warm and comforting as he sits there in front of it, half awake. The book sits forgotten as he sprawls out on the rug and pulls a pillow down from the sofa.

He curls up in front of the flame and finally falls asleep.

When he wakes up, there’s a blanket draped over him, and Riza’s laying on her stomach on the sofa, a book in front of her. She whispers to herself as she reads, and Roy’s pretty sure she’s reciting some other language. It doesn’t sound Amestrian, anyway.

The fire’s still going, so she must’ve built up whatever embers remained when she got back from school. Roy slept the entire _day_.

He gets to his feet and glances out the window. The world is covered in white.

“Master Hawkeye…” he starts, but Riza’s already shaking her head.

Roy’s relief is palpable. He needs a break, just for a day. They both do. It’s a Friday evening, the start of a weekend, they’re buried in snow. It can be relaxing, if they’re not holding their breath wondering when the alchemist will emerge from his lair and what his mood will be like when he does.

“What do you want for dinner?” Roy asks.

“You’re making dinner?”

“I’m not _completely_ incompetent. You made me breakfast. It’s fair.”

She sets down her book and pushes up onto her elbows. “Okay, Mister Mustang.”

“Okay.”

They eat in front of the fireplace and leave their dishes stacked up on the small side table. Riza lays on her back on the rug, one arm tucked under her head and the other on her stomach. Roy sits on the floor, leaning his head back on the sofa. They ask and answer random questions. Favorite color. Favorite food. Roy finds out that Riza used to have a dog, but he ran away a month after her mother died. Riza finds out that Roy is afraid of guns.

She pulls down the rifle from above the mantel. “You don’t have to be scared of it.”

She sets it down in front of him, pretending she doesn’t care one way or the other if he picks it up. Roy brushes hand over the weapon, cool metal, smooth wood. He looks up at Riza.

“Is it loaded?”

“Of course not. The ammo’s in the closet.”

“You know how to shoot it?”

“Yeah. I’m not very good at hunting, though. The animals move too fast. I can’t hit them.”

“You go _hunting_?”

“Duh. Even one deer can feed us for months.”

“You shot a _deer_.”

“Got lucky.” She rolls her eyes and gives him that glare she uses when she’s accusing him of being an absolute idiot. “You’re perfectly happy eating the meat, city boy.”

“I know, I just… you’re _ten_.”

“Which is probably why I’m not that great at hunting. But I know I’m better than you.”  
  
“That isn’t fair. I’m better than you at a lot of things.”

Riza shrugs, but it’s her shrug of agreement, so Roy doesn’t press the point. Riza’s smart enough that he wouldn’t exactly worry about her, in Central, but she’d be out of her element, the same way he is here.

The next day, she takes him out to shoot at paper targets strung up into the trees. They sit in an unused deer blind they hasn’t seen human contact since the end of the hunting season, months ago. Riza can hit an unmoving target with startling accuracy. Roy flinches every time the gun fires. He forces himself to hold it and pull the trigger, but his aim is shit. Riza’s totally exasperated with him, but he resolves to get better. If he’s serious about joining the military, he’s gonna have to be able to handle a gun.

Of course, he hasn’t told anyone about that ambition except Aunt Chris, and that doesn’t count, he was five.

They stay out until the winter’s mid-afternoon sunset. Their boots leave deep footprints in the snow as they walk back to the house, Riza cradling the rifle with her right arm. She tenses up when she pushes open the kitchen door.

Berthold Hawkeye is sitting at the table. His eyes are bright and wild.

“Where were you, girl?”

“She was teaching me how to hunt,” Roy says. He puts himself in front of Riza, although he can feel her ‘I don’t need your protection’ glare.

Master Hawkeye’s eyebrows lift. “That right?”

Riza tilts her head forward. It might be a nod, or a gesture of submission. Roy longs to put his hand on her shoulder or grab her hand or _anything_ , but he just stuffs his hands into his coat pockets and bites his lip.

“Yes,” Riza says. There is an edge to her tone, but her father is already ignoring her.

His stare pierces through Roy, instead. “You’re here to learn alchemy, aren’t you? What do you need to know how to use a rifle for?”

Roy shrugs. “I can learn more than one thing, sir.”

“Stay away from my daughter, Mustang.”

Roy glances at Riza, and she just barely looks at him. She gives a minute shrug.

Roy nods, and it’s both an acknowledgement of his teacher’s order and a confirmation of Riza’s silent consent to straight up lie and say he’ll abandon her when he’d never do that.

Berthold looks down at the notes and half-filled circles Roy’d spent his all-nighter composing. Two days already feels like a long time ago, and Roy can barely remember what he’d drawn. But _something_ in that mess has sparked Master Hawkeye’s interest. He grabs a fistful of Roy’s papers and beckons his apprentice toward the makeshift lab where they do most of their work.

Roy takes a deep breath and follows him, but he turns back to Riza before he leaves the room. She’s leaning against the back door, arms crossed over her chest, challenge burning in her eyes.

He smiles at her and shakes his head quickly and promises ‘still not like him, still on your side.’  

“You better go,” she says quietly.

Roy nods. He leaves Riza alone in the kitchen.


End file.
